


She'll Do

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Absolutely fuckin blatant, Explicit Consent, F/M, I'm Sorry, Libraries as a method of seduction, Parties, Power Imbalance, blatant self-insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: His Majesty Sigismund Dijkstra, Chancellor of Redania, hears a lady talking about seducing him.He decides to see if she is worthy.
Relationships: Sigismund Dijkstra/Original Female Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	She'll Do

**Author's Note:**

> ...there's no excuse. Absolutely no excuse other than that I seem to have a particular genre of fictional crushes that falls under 'not particularly attractive but would make me feel small and absolutely demolish me'. 
> 
> There was supposed to be smut. I seem to have enough shame to not write self-insert smut.

Nothing produced intelligence like a party. Alcohol loosened tongues, alliances were made and broken, deals and betrothals struck, people coming from far and wide to meet for the first time in years. And not to mention the gossip - servants heard far more than they would have ever liked to, and they were paid well to remember and pass on the information to relevant parties.

Even now that he had spymasters and intelligence agents doing this for him, Chancellor Dijkstra knew never to forget the servants. Or to lose connection to his court around him.

He embarked on his rounds at the party, listening to what he could. It did not do well for a king to be uninformed, after all. As such, he doesn’t sit on his throne. An elegant cane in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, he makes his way around the dining hall, listening to guests talk amongst themselves.

It is, however, somewhat dull. While the events at parties themselves were not always dull, there is repetition. It makes them endlessly predictable, and really, he shouldn’t let it be predictable. 

“Anything of note?” He asks one of his agents, walking around the party as a servant. 

“Some, Your Majesty. None of immediate urgency, but enough to fill a report later.” The man replies, offering a plate of bacon wrapped canapes that Dijkstra gladly takes.

“Excellent. I expect it on my desk soon.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The man pauses and gets an interesting look on his face, an expression that Dijkstra recognizes as ‘I have no idea if it’s okay to say this’.

The Chancellor rolls his eyes. “Out with it, man.”

The agent swallows. “On a time sensitive but personal note, sir, the two ladies by the punch bowl in the green and blue dresses are discussing how to get the blonde one into bed with you.”

His eyebrows raise and although he doesn’t snort, he feels the laughter caught in his throat. “Really now?” It is not unheard of - he is a powerful man and people are attracted to power - but he  _ knows  _ he is not the most attractive man in the world. He has heard many insults to that effect. So it is surprising.

“Yes, Your Majesty. She’s very insistent, if a little crude, and her friend is reluctantly supportive.”

He leans slightly to look. The sea of colour is difficult to pour through, but he sees them easily enough. The girls are pretty enough, dressed like they are from the northwest of the country. The taller brunette is in green and black, eyes darkly lined, piercings in her face and a sharp eye scanning the room. She seems to have some sense, at least.

The smaller one...is also pretty. Curvy and plump, blonde hair braided back Toussaint style, painted red lips shining, cheeks a little flushed, in a dark blue dress. She is generally not his type, truth be told. He prefers brunettes, prefers grace and power, dignity and calm. It was why Philippa had drawn him so, after all.

But he also hadn’t bedded anyone in months, and the blonde is pretty enough.

“How crude?” Now, he’s a little curious. 

“I believe the exact phrase I heard was ‘ _ I want him to plow me like the fall harvest’,  _ Your Majesty.”

In his mind, he snorts with laughter. Not the crudest of statements, but blunt at the very least. On the exterior, he makes an affirmative hum, dismisses the agent with a nod, and moves slowly through the crowd to the girls to listen.

“I still question your judgement,” the brunette says, her consonants clipped and her voice dripping with judgement.

“Shh, you’re supposed to be supportive,” the blonde replies, her vowels dragging and consonants rolling as she slaps her friend’s arm gently. “We have different tastes, let me live.”

“Clearly.” The brunette rolls her eyes.

“Don’t you kinkshame me, just...help me.”

“Alright. So please tell me you have enough sense to not march up and ask him to pin you to a wall.”

The blonde looks at her friend, scandalized. “I’m not  _ that  _ dumb. Never mind his personality, I am not walking up to a  _ KING _ and asking him to fuck me blind,” the blonde hisses, trying to keep it down. His ears still pick it up and he tries not to snort into his glass at the thought of her doing just that and how fast he would throw her out. “I need to be subtle.”

The brunette’s sigh is resigned and extremely put-upon. “Are you at all capable of subtlety?”

It takes him a moment, running through reports of the guest list and of a list that his chamberlain had prepared for him of possible wives. The brunette is Lady Woods, the oldest daughter of a governing family in the Columbines, training to be an accountant. And the blonde is Miss Skatestooth, the only daughter of Skelligan merchants, now a librarian in Oxenfurt. No power in their positions, really, and none in their families, but sweet, smart and charming, with varying ambitions in life.

Miss Skatestooth shrugs. “I could try? It might work.”

“It wouldn’t work. You are the least subtle person I know,” Lady Woods shrugs. “And please don’t court him like a Skelligan.”

“What? Give him flowers and ale, challenging him to a fight, and then taking the fight elsewhere?” The blonde laughs, a slightly barking sound. “I wouldn’t try that on anyone other than a Skelligan, and he is emphatically not.”

He briefly imagines someone trying that with him. He’d probably throw her out of the court for it.

“So, what do I say to him? How do I talk to a king, let alone chat him up?” She continues softly. “Do I just pass a word to a servant? Is there a code?”

He finally breaks it up. “Or you could speak loud enough for servants to hear and tell me anyways, ladies. That always works.” He turns to look at them properly, preparing a neutral expression and an arched eyebrow.

They jump, nearly dropping their glasses of wine but they manage to hold on. Miss Skatestooth is more noticeably shocked, of course. They would make poor agents. Still, they recover quickly and curtsy. “Your Majesty,” Lady Woods says quickly. “Please forgive our impudence.”

Miss Skatestooth nods. “It was wildly inappropriate of us, and if any blame is to go around, let it fall on me. It was at my insistence.”

There is a sharp look between them, a silent conversation with the blonde silently insisting that her friend not try to shoulder this, and Sigismund sighs. “Rise, Lady Woods, Miss Skatestooth. You haven’t offended me. Amused, if anything.”

Miss Skatestooth stares at him for a moment in surprise, and he locks eyes with her. They are grey blue, like looking into the ocean off the side of a boat, and empty of guile. But her cheeks are pink, her pupils a little dilated as he stands over her, and he can, in that moment, imagine her with her braid undone, hair spread across his pillow, those painted lips gasping his name. It’s a pleasant enough image, and he feels himself stir in his trousers. 

It has been far too long if he is already enticed at an unproven partner.

He looks at her, setting his empty wine glass on the table. “So tell me then, Miss. What would you say, had you sent word that you wished to speak to me?”

_ Show me you're worth it, girl.  
_

She swallows, her cheeks darkening, and she straightens her back. Her arms clasp behind her back, fingers tightening on her elbows - a learned action, he thinks, to hide the fact that her hands are shaking. “The requisite pleasantries, of course, Your Majesty. That I am honoured to be here, and that I wish fair winds for your reign.”

Polite, too. It’s a small tick in her favour. “You and every other person in this hall seeking my favour,” he says dismissively. “And what else?”

Another swallow, her grip tightening on her elbows, and her gaze consciously focusing on him. “…that I have little to barter with but that I would offer almost anything I have to look in the royal library,” she says gently. “I have heard that you have filled its shelves even further and in a brief glimpse, it is magnificent.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You are the librarian at Oxenfurt University, correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I would be careful offering almost anything, Miss Skatestooth, but your appreciation is noted,” he replies. “Tell me, how fares the Head Librarian? We were on good terms when I was there.”

She smiles, some of her awkward fear fading. “Head Librarian Tamelin is well, Your Majesty. She is an excellent teacher, and still very…” she chooses the word carefully, “strict.”

He snorts. “Can she still yell across the library?”

A little laugh. “Yes, Your Majesty. And does so frequently.”

Nope, the woman hasn’t changed a bit.

“Good. She’s a bat but a good one,” he knew all this already, but he can’t help prodding the woman a little. He did not suffer fools lightly, and the last thing he wanted to do was take one to bed. “And what, pray tell, do you want to see in the royal library?”

Her eyes sparkle. “I heard that there is a first edition Necronomicon with the original illuminations. Not to mention the legends in Elder Speech,” there is a thirst for knowledge behind those eyes, and he respects that.

“Rey has been trying to open the Oxenfurt library for visitors,” Lady Woods chimes in. “Visiting hours for people to read.”

“Is that so?” He frowns at her, filing the name away for future reference.

Miss Skatestooth nods, and the last of her awkwardness gives way to passion. “Libraries are keepers of knowledge, but they shouldn’t guard it so fiercely. Knowledge is power, true, but should we not help to empower people? Share the stories that have been told over the years to anyone to hear?”

If not for libraries and the wisdom in their pages, he would not have arisen as quickly in the political world as he had. Commoners were not often allowed in libraries, but he had gained the trust of a librarian. With that knowledge and his own intelligence, he’d gotten quite far. Sigismund makes a mental note to send quiet support for her practises. But of course, these women didn’t know his own common upbringing and his agreeing passion. Instead, he nodded and said, “Not many would agree with you, particularly librarians, but it is a noble stance.”

She beams, her eyes sparkling and dimples lighting up her face. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

“As for the library, well, perhaps that could be arranged in the future,” he doesn’t promise, but even the hint of it makes Miss Skatestooth’s face light up like a star. 

“You are too kind, Your Majesty. I hope that if there is anything you would like in return, I would be able to provide it.” Her voice is gentle, almost naive, but her eyes flick him up and down. Obviously, she doesn’t forget what she said. Not that he had either.

“You will be informed if that is the case.”

As he shifts his posture, his ankle throbs with pain, the quiet ache starting to grow louder. Shit. He had hoped that it would be able to survive a bit longer. While his expression doesn’t change, his posture does, putting weight on his good leg. “Ladies, I must bid you farewell. Thank you for the charming conversation.”

They curtsy. “Thank you, your majesty,” Lady Woods replies.

Miss Skatestooth smiles. “Until we meet again, Your Majesty.”

“You so sure about that, Miss Skatestooth?”

Her cheeks darken. “I can only hope, Your Majesty.”

As he departs, limping for the bathhouse where he might soak his leg, he catches a servant. “When I am done, find Miss Skatestooth and invite her to the library. And send a maid up to my chambers to tidy them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

* * *

The hour is late, but after a soak in the hottest water he can tolerate, the pain has faded. Sigismund dresses again, puts his brace on, and makes his way to the library. Waiting by the door, hands clasped in front of her, is Miss Skatestooth, excitement painted across her face. She curtsies again at the sight of him. “Your Majesty.”

“Miss Skatestooth,” he greets her. “It seems your hope was correct.”

She smiles. “I suppose so. I count myself very lucky."

He offers her his arm. She takes it with care, her fingers nestling in the crook of his elbow, and they push the door open. Her eyes go wide with wonder at the high vaulted shelves, the moonlight trickling through stained glass windows, the reading desks and display stands. There are no words at first, and he can feel her vibrating by his side with the need to rush forward and look at them. But, to her credit, she stays by his side as he begins walking her through the shelves. The history of the library is easy enough to recount, and she asks good questions about how it is organized, how readings are arranged, special collections and storage methods. And about his favourite books, which she asks with a slight twinkle in her eye. All in all, she is a good conversation partner, if a bit too talkative when she gets going on a topic that she likes. 

As their circuit of the library comes to a close, she pauses and looks up at him. “If I may ask you something else, Your Majesty?”

He nods, letting the silence speak for itself. He knows where this is going.

“Bluntness may, for the moment, suit this better, so I apologize. I am not a subtle woman.” Her smile is a little self-deprecating, and he acknowledges it with a nod. “But…I do not flatter myself to think I am a great enough librarian to get a personal tour of the library by the Chancellor of Redania simply from a short conversation. Nor do I have titles or important friends or any political advantage worth exploiting. So why did you ask me here?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes for long, darting about the room, but her attention doesn’t drift away from him. He nods. “You’re right. You are a good librarian, but not quite impressive enough to woo away from the university,” he stops walking, and she turns to look at him. “But let’s test that brain of yours. Why do you think I would?”

Her brows furrow as she thinks, her eyes dropping to the floor. He has always liked seeing other people’s brains work, especially when their emotions accompany the thoughts. She is confused, trying to think through the options. When he sees realization and disbelief in tandem, her eyes snap up to him. “When I said I would offer almost anything to see the library…”

“You made the suggestion yourself, after all,” he turns to look at her. “Although if you changed your mind, I wouldn’t force anything upon you. I’m not a savage.”

Her eyes are wide, her cheeks red, her hands knotting in her dress…but she stays still. Her gaze rakes him from head to toe, and when she looks back up at him, she nods.

“Say it out loud, Miss Skatestooth,” he says firmly. He steps a little closer to her and touches a finger to her chin, making her head tilt back further to meet his eyes. Her throat bobs with a swallow, and he lets a little bit of hunger creep into his voice. “Do you want to get fucked by a king?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she almost interrupts him in how fast she responds, and she shifts in her posture, her thighs rubbing together. Good, he’s still got it (not that there was ever any doubt). “Please.”

His finger brushes along her chin, tracing her jawline. Her head tilts a little, giving him a better view as he touches the curve of her jaw. “Then you certainly shall,” he promises.

She inhales slowly, trying to gather herself. “Do you mean here, or perhaps elsewhere?”

“I’m many things, Miss Skatestooth, but I’m no exhibitionist,” he raises an eyebrow at her. He offers an arm and she takes it, sliding her fingers into the crook of his elbow. His doublet is too thick to feel the warmth of her skin, but he feels how lightly she touches him. Like she can’t believe she gets to do this. It is good for his confidence, not that he needed his ego stroked further, and he leads her out of the library. Everyone is busy in the dining hall, and ashe imagines that the guest bedrooms will be busy, he takes a different route. She takes two steps for every one of his, even with his cane slowing him down, and her free hand lifts her dress to help quicken her pace. They say nothing as they climb the stairs to his room, and when the guards part to give them access, he can hear her indrawn breath. The bedroom of a king.

When they step inside, she looks around, taken in by the bright colours, and her gaze stops at the bed. He is a large man who enjoyed comfort, so the bed matched. She lets go of his arm to step forward and run a hand along the bedding. “I’ve never felt something so soft,” she says quietly.

“Zerrikanian silk and Toussaint velvet,” he replies. The door shuts behind them with an audible thump and she turns to look at him, her eyes a little wide. She pinches herself on the edge of her wrist and he snorts. “You’re not dreaming, girl.”

“Aren’t I?” 

Again, his ego doesn’t need it, but it’s still nice. “Before we begin,” he carefully takes out his cufflinks and sets them on a table, “I want to be clear with you about what we are doing, and set some rules. And if there is anything about you that I should know.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she replies, sitting on the edge of the bed, “I appreciate it.”

Her hands clasp on her lap, an eager student awaiting his words, and he feels himself harden further at her big blue eyes looking up at him. “The most important rule: if at any point, you want to stop or if I am doing something you don’t like, you tell me. I’m not going to get mad, and I don’t want to hurt you,” he begins. 

She smiles in relief. “And likewise, Your Majesty.” 

Good. First step done. “You may use my title in conversation here, but when we’re in bed, you are allowed to say my name,” he tells her. “Whether you call me by my last name or my first, I don’t care.”

She nods. “And you call me by mine?”

“Yes, I shall.” His voice shifts, dropping low with a threat. “But what happens in this room stays in this room. You go around telling people that you fucked the king and about what I like, or lying about what I like, and you will regret it. Do you understand?”

A much faster nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Her voice shakes only a little. 

The power imbalance here helps. She could ruin his reputation, but he could ruin her life, and she knows it. 

“Good,” his voice lightens only slightly, setting his crown down on a small pillow. “I will need to return to say goodnight to my guests when we are done. Where are you staying?”

“At the Boardog Inn in town, Your Majesty. With my friend.”

“And are you the only one with a key?”

Her smile twitches. “No, Your Majesty. Would you wish me gone from your room upon your return from your guests?” 

_ Or do you want me to stay,  _ she silently asks. He knows the answer. If she were a common whore, he would have her out of his bed as soon as he was done with her. She is common, yes, but not a whore. And he has missed having someone in his bed that he doesn’t have to keep one eye open with. “No. If there’s any energy left in you, I expect a show for me tonight, and another in the morning. If you can walk out of here, I haven't done my duty.”

She blinks and nods, lips curling up in a smile. “As you say.”

He doesn’t smile, but he does step closer. “Anything else?”

“And we are not destroying anyone’s clothes?” She asks. “Just to confirm?”

He snorts. “Do you have enough party dresses with you to allow you that?”

She grins and shakes her head. “You do, though. Lots of pretty things.”

“You are not ripping my clothes,” he warns her, voice low.

“As you say, Your Majesty,” her voice is only a touch impertinent, but her lack of poker face assures him that she wouldn’t dare. She bends to take her shoes off, setting them off to the side, and clasps her hands on her lap again.

He cannot wait any further. “Now, what was it you were saying? You want me to plow you like the harvest?” He steps forward, cups her cheek in a hand.

Her cheeks go red as she nods. “ _Please_.” 


End file.
